


Count On

by notanightlight



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Battle, Blood, Canon Era, Hurt No Comfort, I Didn’t Choose The Angst Life, Kill Counting, M/M, Or Possibly Post Canon, Somewhere In The Middle Of That, Whumptober, heed the warnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-14 06:34:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16034957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notanightlight/pseuds/notanightlight
Summary: Kill counting during battle has become a tradition for Gimli and Legolas.  It doesn’t bode well when that tradition is interrupted.





	1. Keeping Count

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Day 1 of the Whumptober challenge: Stabbed.
> 
> As always, please heed the warnings and keep tissues nearby.

 

Sometimes Gimli wondered what the world would be like when peace truly reigned; when no more stories of bandits on the road or accounts of Orcish raiding parties in the night landed on his desk.  Most of the time he imagined a paradise, although he had lived too long to believe that true perfection would ever truly be reached. But when the greater evils of the world were gone, perhaps they could reach a true harmony.  Occasionally, however, he wondered if such a world might leave him… bored.

 

He felt guilty even thinking it.  An end to the wars and battles was all they had ever fought for, but still… Gimli was a warrior and he welcomed the thrill of battle.  With no foes left to fight, what would become of him?

 

Rationally, Gimli knew he was worth far more than his axe.  He was a statesman and a leader, a poet and a craftsman, a friend and lover.  But still, at times he couldn’t help but wonder.

 

A wickedly serrated knife passed mere inches from his face and Gimli shook himself from his musings.  Now was not the time to philosophize over such things.

 

He brought his great axe around to land solidly in the rusty Orcish chain mail, and before the fiend had a chance to recover its breath Gimli’s hand axe had ripped through its exposed throat.

 

“Twelve!” he called over the clanging sounds of battle.

 

There would be plenty of time to think about that future when it came.  And from the numbers of Orcish raids they were called to break up even ten years into Aragorn’s reign, that future was a long way off.

 

“Seventeen!” came the familiar reply from somewhere behind him.

 

Gimli grinned as he pressed forward to assist a younger warrior dealing with the pair of orcs.

 

“You’re a liar, Legolas!” Gimli called back, hooking an axe into the shoulder of one Orc to drag it off balance.

 

He was well attuned to listening for that particular Elvish voice, so he didn’t miss the overly affected huff of affront that preceded Legolas’s cry of “You wound me!” in a playful tone.

 

Gimli couldn’t help but smile even wider as he attempted to get past his opponent’s defenses so he could land a solid blow.  Should his life lead to ever ongoing battle or blissful peace, he would have Legolas at his side to fend off any encroaching boredom or black moods.

 

The Orc chanced a strike that Gimli had only a fraction of a second to dodge.  It was close, but gave Gimli the opening he needed to cut the Orc down.

 

“Thirteen!” he called, triumphant.  “And if Aragorn and his guard don’t arrive shortly there will be no fight left for them at all!” he added, as he joined the younger Dwarrow against their opponent.

 

A laugh rang out before Legolas shouted, “Eighteen!”

 

Gimli grit his teeth as the Orc dodged another swing.

 

Barely a minute later Legolas was calling “Nineteen!” in a singsong voice so familiar that Gimli could practically see the teasing grin on his face.

 

“Hold on a moment,” Gimli grumbled, as the two Dwarves tried to pin down the slippery Orc.

 

Finally, one of Gimli’s blows landed solidly at the very same time as one of his compatriot’s.  The force of those two opposing blows sent the Orc’s body twisting as it fell lifeless to the ground.  There was no telling which had been the mortal strike.

 

Gimli shrugged at the other Dwarf before calling, “thirteen and a half!”

 

Legolas gave no reply, but there was a sudden uproar of shouting and an Elvish voice crying “My Lord!”

 

A cold feeling swept over Gimli as he spun towards the commotion; the rest of the battle all but forgotten.

 

Legolas stood a length away; an Orc crumpled at his feet and black blood dripping from his white knife.  His face was awash in slack-jawed shock as he stared down at the jagged tip of a blade protruding from the right side of his chest.

 

The world fell away and Gimli didn’t even register that he was moving.  He barely noticed his axes slicing through the unfortunate Orcs that stood between the two of them.  He paid no thought to the half-dozen Elvish arrows that sprung from the dark figure looming behind Legolas before it toppled to the ground.

 

Gimli’s world had narrowed down to Legolas alone.  His heart spasmed in his chest as he watched the white knife slip from that sure grasp.  The dull thud of it hitting the leaf litter below rang in his ears as elegant fingers rose to touch the swiftly spreading patch of blood darkening Legolas’s tunic.

 

Legolas was _falling!_

 

Everything in Gimli railed against the idea of Legolas hitting the ground.

 

He must have dropped his axes, because an instant later his hands were carefully guiding Legolas to lean against his chest.  The world was chaos around them as they sat on the forest floor, eyes locked on each other as Legolas gasped for breath. Someone nearby mentioned something about Aragorn and a healer’s hands, but Gimli couldn’t focus on that.  How could he focus on anything when there were little red bubbles forming along the border of flesh and steel in his love’s chest?

 

With the hand not occupied with supporting Legolas’s back, he firmly gripped the blade, trying to keep it from widening the wound.  Trying to keep the air in his lungs.

 

Without a conscious choice, Gimli found himself begging.

 

“Please.  Please, Legolas, this isn’t fair.  You can’t do something like this.” He drew Legolas closer to his chest, far too aware of the warm wetness spreading beneath his hand.  “We’re not finished yet, Legolas. You have to hold on.”

 

Legolas’s hand came up to rest over Gimli’s, but any reply he might have said was stolen away by either pain or lack of breath.

 

The fight may still have gone on around them, but Gimli made no note of any further falling bodies.  As those around him shouted for “Elessar! Aragorn! Hurry!” Gimli counted Legolas’s breaths instead.

 

_One, two, th-three, four—_

  


The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Epilogue to follow tomorrow)


	2. On Your Fingers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for Day 2 of Whumptober: Bloody Hands
> 
> It... doesn’t get much better, but at least it doesn’t get much worse?

  
  


His hands were red.

 

In some places, rust red and flaking, but predominantly bright, tacky, red.

 

Splatters of Orcish black were smothered in that terrible red.

 

It wasn’t even warm anymore.

 

Vaguely, Gimli noted that he hadn’t worn any gloves into battle.

 

Low murmurs drifted through the air in a blend of Dwarven, Elvish, and Mannish voices, but Gimli did not raise his eyes from his hands as he sat outside the tent hastily erected for triage.

 

Inside, Aragorn tended to Legolas.  Legolas, who had been…

 

A deeper line of red crossed one of his hands, where the ragged edge of the blade had cut into his palm as he held it in place.

 

Aragorn was doing all he could.  Gimli knew that. But… there was so much red.

 

 _Green leaves turn red before they fall,_ the unwanted thought filtered through his mind.

 

He flexed his fingers.

 

There was red beneath his fingernails.

 

He tensed in surprise when a clean hand took one of his filthy ones.  One of the Elves who came with Legolas from Ithilien was crouched before him.  Her expression was sympathetic before she lowered eyes.

 

No words passed between them.

 

She dipped a cloth into a bowl of water, and began to scrub at Gimli’s hands; periodically dipping the cloth back into the bowl to re-wet it.

 

It was a thoughtful gesture, Gimli supposed, though he felt no urge to voice that thought or any thought at all.

 

He would have to ask Legolas for the Elf’s name another time.

 

For now, he just waited, and watched as the water in the bowl turned red.

  


The End.

**Author's Note:**

> Remember the canon ending. Keep calm and remember the canon ending.


End file.
